
THE QUEST 

Edward Salisbury Field 



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The Quest 

AND 

OTHER POEMS 



EDWARD SALISBURY FIELD 




BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 

1904 



Copyright, 1903, by Edward Salisbury Field 
All Rights Reserved 



Library of CONGRESS 

Two Copies Received 

APR 19 1904 

Copyright Entry 

CLAss ^v xXc. No. 

COPY B 



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Printed at 

THE GORHAM PRESS 

Boston, U.S.A. 



TO MY MOTHER 

Tve gone about for years I find 

With eyes half bhnd, 

Squandering golden hours 

In search of flow'rs 

That do not grow, it seems, 

Except in dreams ; 

But in my wanderings 

Fi-om place to place 

I've found no face more fair — 

No eyes more true than thine. 

Oh mother mine. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Quest 7 

Eyes of my Life 15 

Song i6 

I Think the Garden Misses You 17 

Bitter Sweet 18 

Why Do I Love Thee ? 19 

But Love Can Hear 20 

How Did I Know? 21 

You Smiled 22 

When You Are Away 23 

Moon Song 24 

I Love Thee and I Will Not Go 25 

To Forget 26 

Now Thou Art Gone 27 

The Shadow 28 

Lest My Soul Should Stray 29 

And The Seasons Go 30 

The Little Things 31 

The Portrait of a Gentleman 32 

Along The Stream 33 

The Wind Seems Kind Today 34 

A Rose or Two 35 

Jealously 36 

The Time for Mating 37 

And We Were Alone 38 

The Dragon-Fly 39 

The First Prelude Chopin 40 

For Her Majesty The Queen 41 

Nesting Times 42 

Quatrain 43 



PAGE 

Friendship 44 

I Know a Place Where a River Weaves 45 

Was It The Sea? 46 

Song of a Lonely Soul 47 

Until a Master Passion Shall Arise 48 

Have You Ever Been To Fairy Land? 49 

I Would Be Great 50 

What Do You Say? 51 

Then Came Twilight 52 

Longings 53 

Sir Insolence 54 

The Water Lilies 55 

An Old Fashioned Garden 56 

But The Living Fade 57 

When Sunbeams Stray 58 



THE QUEST 

With windows open towards Futurity 
I sit and wait, and watch the eastern sky. 
'Tis weary waiting for the days that lie 
Somewhere beyond. The clouds go winging by 

As I have sometimes seen belated birds 
Go winging nestward, fearful in their flight 
Thro' the uncertain and fast-fading light 
Lest they be overtaken by the Night. 

In dreams alone have I found Happiness. 
Last night I dreamed of freedom ; of release 
From sorrow; of a strange, sweet song of 

peace. 
Alas, that such a dream should ever cease ! 

But as I drifted thro' the Shoals of Sleep, 
Out from the Isle of Dreams where all things 

are, 
I saw what seemed to be a peerless Star, 
And longed to grasp it, but it was too far. 

So many of us are but restless birds 
Of passage, constantly upon the wing; 
Who never think to look within the ring 
Of Self and Soul, to find the Hidden Spring. 

And few possess a vessel large enough 
To hold the countless tears that overflow. 
The Christian has his God ; we Pagans know 
No God to comfort us, and we must go. 



And lay our heads on some dear, faithful- 
breast, 
And breathe the sorrows that the Seasons send 
To one who, in our life's uneven trend. 
Has merited the sacred name of Friend. 

Within my garden many flow'rs have bloomed 
And withered, and its pathways all are strown 
With petals that the willful winds have blown — 
With little hopes that once I called my own. 

t 
When Twilight with her pale, gray fingers 

sweeps 
The last rose-tinted glory from the west, 
I sometimes feel my aching brow caress'd 
By the cool hands of her whom I love best. 

There is a Voice that I shall always hear 
(If that strange thing be true — that shadows 
Predicted someting called Eternity) 
It has become so much a part of me. 

Across sad seas, within the Vale of Sleep, 
Two silent cities lie ; and of the pair, 
One is so cold, and dark and sinister, 
That I would pray to never enter there. 

For all night long there roams within its walls 
A Restlessness. Without, from dusk till dawn, 
The Night Wind moans and mutters till the 

wan, 
Pale face of Morning bids them both begone. 



Oh, pity him who longs and yearns for rest — 
The tortured one whom Sleep will not obey ! 
The head that on a sleepless pillow lay 
Must rise at morn to face another day. 

I am a captive caught within the web 
Of Circumstance. I trust the weight of years 
To free me. Why, then, importune the ears 
Of One who never answers if He hears ? 

Some day the threads will snap beneath the 

strain, 
And give me liberty. When I can go 
And come at will, and reap where now I sow, 
And pay the paltry pennies that I owe, 

Life will be rid of petty tyrannies. 

Then shall I have more time to sing my songs, 

More time to satisfy a Soul that longs 

To solve the mystery of Rights and Wrongs. 

The sweetest singer that has ever sung 
Thro' all the ages, from a Vintner's Sign 
Fashioned a harp, with tendrils of the Vine 
For strings, and sang a wondrous Song of 
Wine. 

For one brief moment it was given me 
To lie within the arms of Happiness ; 
And I remember every tenderness — 
Each smile, each sigh, each heart-throb, each 
caress. 



Last night I listened to a mocking-bird 
That sang to me somewhere out in the rain. 
There was a note within its lovely strain 
That told of heart-break and a world of pain. 

I love the music of the Night ; and yet 
In all the songs the Night has sung to me 
I have not found one single melody 
That was not written in a minor key. 

And when I listen to a violin 
That seems almost to suffer as the bow 
Within the Master's hand glides to and fro 
Across its strings (and it is often so) 

I feel the bow upon my own heart strings. 
And every sob, and sigh, and psalm of praise, 
And every curse and cadence that obeys 
Is mine ; and I — the violin he plays. 

I seem to feel each veering of the wind. 

Above the petty clouds of Loss and Gain 

I sit, and watch Earth's children strive and 

strain, 
And search for sunbeams in a blinding rain. 

Death came to me one night withm a dreamu 
And stood beside me for a while ; then laid 
His hand upon my head and gently bade 
Me follow himi. And I was not afraid. 



10 



I rose and followed him. But as I asked 
Of him that question which the Living must 
Forever ask, into my hands was thrust 
An alabaster box half-filled with dust. 

There is a Heaven in this world somewhere ; 
And if I could but find it I would give 
Up all I have, throw down the sorry sieve 
Thro' which I sift the sands of Life, and — 
LIVE! 

Of Life's Illusions, this is not the least : 
The Pleasures of the Morrow magnify 
Themselves : and thus deceived, too oft we sigh, 
And pass the Pleasures of the Present by. 

In some things I am nothing but a child : 
I make believe the cloudy days are fair. 
And when the pain seems more than I can bear, 
I smile — and make believe I do not care. 

Ah, yes! but there is one of me (the child 
Or man, I know not which it is) who fears 
That should the game be played thro' many 

years 
I shall go blind with holding back the tears. 

I am a plaything in the hands of Fate. 
Sometimes I seem to please, as playthings will ; 
And then again, my Master treats me ill, 
And tosses me aside — His plaything still. 



II 



Life is a journey; days are distances. 
Each morn we rise where we so safely stowed 
Our packs the night before, and with the load 
Once more upon our backs, we take the road 

That leads— NO ONE KNOWS WHERE. 

Altho' 'tis plain 
That we could gather from the Least Profound 
The most concerning whither we are bound, 
Were Silence less intelligent than Sound. 

And tho' I know that I should never turn 
My little lamp upon another's sin 
Until I have first turned its rays within, 
And scanned the miles to where I might have 
been; 

We know so many things that are not true. 
That dreams are sweetest in the month of May, 
And your eyes bluest when the skies are gray. 
Were worth a tliousand truths of Yesterday. 

My eyes so often seek the Evening Star. 

I sometimes fancy it a sentinel 

Before the walls of Night ; placed there to tell 

The world when Day is dead, and all is well. 

Ah, 'tis a noble sight to watch the stars 
As cap-d-pie, with every shining lance 
Aloft, and every armored side a-glance 
With gleaming light, they silently advance. 



12 



Dear Heart, oft times when Night is marshall- 
ing 
Her regiments, I wonder where you are ; 
If your dear eyes are watching from afar 
The self-same heavens, and the self-same star. 

Ah, see yon meteor that westward wings 
Across the firmament and disappears 
In nothingness beyond ! As days in years 
Are lost, or hours of happiness in tears. 

If I could envy, I would envy him 

Who has the power to make the Present pay 

For all the joylessness of yesterday, 

And all the sorrow which the morrow may 

Hold out to him. I would that I could say : 
"To-morrow is, at best, an idle boast ; 
And Yesterday — what is it but a ghost? 
The Great Today is mine ; the least, the most." 

We rail at Life ; and yet if gold could buy 
Us years to live, I venture to foretell 
That we should never find the ones who dwell 
At length upon Life's woe, with years to sell. 

Life is a sad sweet song of wonderment. 

The dead leaves wonder why the west wind 

blows ; 
The willows wonder where the river flows ; 
And I — I wonder if the river knows. 



13 



Sometimes the hopes we build our very Lives 
Upon are razed ; and then, altho* we start 
A thousand times to play the little part 
Assigned to us, we play with half a heart. 

I love the spirit that can smile in pain. 
It is the spirit in the Human Race 
That has the power to glorify — to trace 
Nobility upon the Human Face. 

The pictures of the past by mellow tints 
Are glorified. The flow'rs that used to grow 
Were somehow sweeter than the flow'rs we 

know 
Today. Dear Heart, it will be always so. 

The best that Life can offer is the best 
Within us. Down our little Road of Years 
We hurry — thro' a mist of smiles and tears — 
Pursuing Hope ; pursued by Doubts and Fears. 

Like butterflies we sip now here — now there. 
Like thistledown we drift, and rise and fall 
At every careless zephyr's beck and call. 
Like flow'rs we bloom and wither ; — that is all. 



M 



EYES OF MY LIFE 

Eyes of my Life! 
If thou should'st go — 
What of the night? 
Dost thou not know — 
Heart of my Heart! — 
Hast thou forgot 
There is no Hght 
Where thou art not ? 



15 



SONG 

Last night I saw you in a dream ; 

I called — you did not hear me. 

And then there came another dream 

And you were very near me. 

We roamed the meadows, hand in hand, 

Whilst all the world was sleeping; 

And then at dawn we parted, dear, 

And I awakened, weeping! 



i6 



I THINK THE GARDEN MISSES YOU 

I think the garden misses you ; 
The roses, if they did not care, 
Would never droop the whole day thro', 
Nor look as wistful as they do. 



17 



BITTER-SWEET 

It is sweet to be missed 
So the old saying goes, 
And I doubt it not, Dearest 
Yet every one knows 
That dark shadows lurk 
In the converse of this, 
That the bitter remains 
For the many who miss. 



i8 



WHY DO I LOVE THEE? 

Why do I love thee? Why dost thou believe 
That there is vision greater than thy sight ? 
Why do the swallows circle in their flight? 
Why can he give most, who can most receive? 
Why does the bosom of the ocean heave ? 
Why are the lilies of the valley white? 
Why do the morning-glories close at night? 
And why does Autumn wear one scarlet sleeve ? 

Thou would'st not ask a reason for the rose, 
Nor of the wind know more than that it blows ; 
And yet thou askest me to tell thee why 
I love thee. Still, to please thee, I will try — 
(And who shall call my answer incomplete?) 
I love thee, just because I love thee, Sweet I 



19 



BUT LOVE CAN HEAR 

Love is blind, but Love can hear. 
The faintest footfall tell the lover's ear 
That she is near. 

And Wind tho' lovers be; still can they see 
A thousand graces, hidden all the while 
rrom you and me. 



HOW DID I KNOW? 

Hbw did I know that we should meet? 
I think it was my own heart's beat 
That told me you were coming-, Sweet! 

How did I know which way you'd pass? 
I saw a daisy in the grass 
Consult its dewdrop looking-glass ! 



21 



YOU SMILED . 

You smiled, and then the whole world seemed 

to thrill ; 
A pulsing, throbbing joy ran thro' my veins 
As rills run down a mountain when it rains. 

And straightway all my thoughts deserted me; 
Attracted by the glory of your eyes, 
As golden-rod attracts the butterflies. 



aa 



WHEN YOU ARE AWAY 

When you are away 
The hours lag so, 
And the days declare 
That they will not go. 
But how they can care, 
Or bear to stay 
When you are away, 
I do not know. 



a3 



MOON SONG 

The ni^ht is clear, and the moon sails high. 

Come nearer my Beloved, nearer still ! 
The winds are crooning a lullaby. 

Come nearer my Beloved, nearer still ! 
There are none in the v^^orld but Thou and I ; 
And Thou art mine to caress until 
The stars grow pale in the eastern sky, 
And the moon sails over the hill. 
But oh, how swiftly the moments fly ! 

Come nearer my Beloved, nearer still ! 



24 



I LOVE THEE, AND I WILL NOT GO 

I love thee, and 
I will not go. 
Dost understand ? 
I love thee, and 
Should'st thou command 
I must say: "No; 
I love thee, and 
I will not go !" 



as 



TO FORGET 

Spirit of song within my glass, 
Sparkling wine, soul of the vine. 
Stray sunbeams, golden gleams, 
Ripples of laughter, daring dreams 
In this glass of mine — 
Thou shalt pass my lips, and let 
Thy sweet madness teach my sadness 
To forget. 



NOW THOU ART GONE 

God knows I miss thee thro' the day, 
And thro' the evening hours. But when 
I kiss the pillow where thy dear head lay — 
God ! how I miss thee then ! 

I love thee so ! I even dare 
To hope — yes, know that thou wilt be 
Mine as thou wert before. Sometime, some- 
where, 
Thou wilt return to me! 

The law of Life that made me thine, 
Gave thee to me. Were it not so. 
Then had I learned to curse this heart of mine 
That will not let thee go ! 



a? 



THE SHADOW 

Since thou hast turned thy face from me, 

The winds blow neither good nor ill. 

Thou art as yonder straying cloud, 

And I — the shadow on the hill; 

For thou dost go where e'er the winds decree, 

And I — I can but choose to follow thee. 



a8 



LEST MY SOUL SHOULD STRAY 

Lethe, lest my soul should stray 

Again into the mortal clay, 

Lend it (to warn it how it was betrayed before) 

One little, haunting memory, that it may be 

Content to enter some fair tree — 

A poplar, or a sycamore. 



29 



AND THE SEASONS GO 

The seasons come, and the seasons go; 
Alas that the days should hurry so! 
Spring floats by like a butterfly, 
And summer is gone before we know. 

The seasons come, and the seasons go; 
Alas, that the days should loiter so! 
My poor heart grieves for the dear, dead leaves, 
And the long, long time till the roses blow. 



30 



THE LITTLE THINGS 

The happiness of life doth sO' depend 

Upon the Httle things, 

That any word of kindness may portend 

The thought which brings 

The deed ; which, in the end. 

Doth make the friend. 



31 



THE PORTRAIT OF A GENTLJ:MAN 

Helpful and hopeful, doing what he can 
To make the lives about him more serene ; 
Upright and fearless, sober, steadfast, clean, 
Quick to discern the great All Father's plan ; 
Eager to learn, and not afraid to scan 
The future ; kindly, gracious, tender, keen, 
The very soul of honor, never mean — 
That is the portrait of a gentleman. 

Some seek for fortune in the busy marts. 
Some for mere selfish pleasure, some for fame ; 
And some would sell their souls and rob their 

hearts — 
Would barter all for riches or a name. 
But still we are reminded, now and then, 
That there are some who would be gentlemen. 



32 



ALONG THE STREAM 

For miles the drooping willows shade the 

stream ; 
For hours the violets dream, and nod, and 

dream, 
While sunbeams stab the shadows with their 

gleam. 

And lanquid butterflies float idly where 

The wild flow'rs breathe the sweetest, and 'tis 

there 
That zephyrs comb the tangled maiden-hair. 



33 



THE WIND SEEMS KIND TODAY 

The trees nod east, the trees nod west; 

The wind seems kind today, most kind ; 

It lulls the little leaves to rest. 

The trees nod east, the trees nod west ; 

Do you suppose it has a quest ? 

Has something definite to find ? 

The trees nod east, the trees nod west : 

The wind seems kind today, most kind. 



34 



A ROSE OR TWO 

A Rose or two 
For ma duchesse. 
Not many — true, 
A rose or two. 
Who sent them? You 
Could never guess. 
A rose or two 
For ma duchesse. 



35 



JEALOUSY 

The shadows seem to love the stream, 
The willows bend above it ; 
And while I cannot say I deem 
It strange that they should love it, 

I must confess that when I see 
The willows bending o'er it, 
I feel a twinge of jealousy— 
For I, myself, adore it ! 



36 



THE TIME FOR MATING 

What is the use of waiting? 
Tell her your love today. 
The Spring 's the time for^ mating ; 
There is no month like May. 
The lilies are renewing 
Their promise to the lake; 
Intent upon his wooing, 
A dove is softly cooing 
Somewhere within the brake. 

Why be content with sighing 
As if it were too late? 
The mocking bird is flying 
This moment to his mate. 
Enough of contemplating — 
Spring will depart with May ! 
And Spring 's the time for mating I 
Too long you have been waiting ; 
Tell her your love today. 



37 



AND WE WERE ALONE 

The moon rose — 

The night was wistful ; 

And the thistle stalks shimmered. 

Adown the slope, southerly, 

Shone the lights of the city 

The wind moaned — 

Moaned as a wounded woman might- 

And the stars blinked wonderingly 

In their blue-green meadow. 

Then all was still. 

And my soul entered into the silence 

As into a sanctuary ; 

And we were alone. 



38 



THE DRAGON-FLY 

Unless you are keener by far than I, 
You would never guess 
That the water-cress 
Is madly in love with the dragon-fly. 
' Poor water-cress ! 

For the dragon-fly darts here and there 
All unconcerned. He does not care. 



39 



THE FIRST PRELUDE :— CHOPIN 

The Morning of Creation heard 
Such music, when the first wind stirred ; 
A World was born with every bar — 
With every sixteenth note, a star. 



40 



FOR HER MAJESTY, THE QUEEN 

A fleet of fairy sunbeams 

Is sailing the cloud-seas o'er; 

The flagship is "The Forget-me-not," 

And I am the commodore. 

Yes, I am the commodore of the fleet ; 
And I sail o'er seas of a silver sheen 
With my cargo — a thousand kisses 
For her majesty, the Queen. 



NESTING TIME 

The oriole flies to his mate; 
The linnet has already flown ; 
And e'en the flicker on the gate 
Is not alone. 

O happiness of flying home! 
One lonely heart thou hast forgot ; 
For such as I may stay or roam — 
It matters not. 



42 



QUATRAIN 

My life is a curious, threadbare thing — 
A garment, clean in the main, I trust ; 
But worn, and patched with the songs I sing, 
And I wear it because I must. 



43 



FRIENDSHIP 

You ask me what is Friendship. And I say : 
The beacon light that throws the brightest ray 
On Yesterday, Tomorrow, and Today — 
That is Friendship. 

You ask me what is Friendship. I reply : 
The smile for smile, the sigh for sigh, 
Unchanged and changeless as the years go by — 
That is Friendship. 



44 



I KNOW A PLACE WHERE A RIVER 
WEAVES 

I know a place where a river weaves 
Thro' fields that are wide, and cool, and green ; 
I know where they gather the red rose-leaves 
For the bed of the Fairy Queen. 

And I have seen at the twilight hour 
A star gaze sadly thro' the trees ; 
Sad with loving some earth-born flow'r 
That sighed for the evening breeze. 



45 



WAS IT THE SEA? 

■ 

The song of the sea is in my ears — 

The song of the sea, the song of the sea ! 

Souls that have Hved in the bygone years. 

Singing to me, singing to me ! 

Off to the west the dark sky clears ; 

A sea-gull circles, and wheels, and peers. 

The cloud fleets sail to the southward — Hist ! 

Was it a voice that called to me — 

A voice that I have not heard in years — 

Or was it the sea ? 

My cheek is wet with a dash of spray — 

A dash of spray, a dash of spray ! 

And into my heart come, creeping, fears : 

And I look away, I look away! 

And into my eyes there comes a mist, 

A mist of spray — or is it tears ? 



SONG OF A LONELY SOUL 

Have you ever thought of the uselessness 

Of the lives we lead? 

Have you ever sounded the emptiness 

Of the word "succeed?" 

Have you ever trudged for many an hour 

O'er many a mile, 

To find that you sought but a withered fiow'i 

That was not worth while? 



47 



UNTIL A MASTER PASSION SHALL 
ARISE 

Until a master passion shall arise, 

Absorbing all his little likes and loves 

As the first morning sun absorbs the dew, 

Man is inconstant as a weather vane 

In March. When looking south, he loves the 

south ; 
Yet loves no point upon the compass less 
Because he thinks he loves the south the best. 



48 



HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO 

FAIRYLAND? 

Have you ever been to Fairyland ? 
Did you go by way of the Rainbow Road ? 
Did the tiny chief of the outlaw band 
Of elves demand that you pay a toll? 
And did you give him a feather from 
The wing of a golden oriole ? 



49 



I WOULD BE GREAT* 

I would be great ; 

Not great in strength, nor mastery of art 

But great of heart ! 

I would be true ; 

That I might seem to be more worthy of 

A woman's love ! 

And I would look 

Upon my fellow men with trustful eyes. 

I would be wise ! 



50 



WHAT DO YOU SAY? 

Some say : "Life is but a merry dance 
Thro' endless mazes of Night and Day" — 
Or : 'T.ife is at best but a game of chance ; 
And we are but pawns in a ceaseless play" — 
Or again : "The great moulder is Circum- 
stance ; 
And we — mere pieces of plastic clay." 

Ah, Life is a bundle of Hopes and Fears ! 
'Tis enough, that enough will be always more ; 
Our lives do but echo the laughter and tears 
Of thousands of souls who have go^ne before — 
They who have m.ounted that flight of years 
Which leads to a closed or open door ! 



51 



THEN CAME TWILIGHT 

Then came Twilight ; 

And with her own pale hands let down the bars 

That kept them from our sight, 

And — one by one — the sleepy little stars 

Arose and strayed into the night. 

Then — as a bride 

In her white wedding-garments — came the 

Moon. 
**They say her lover died 
Long years ago," I whispered. "Yes, the 

Moon 
Is mad — stark mad!" the Night Wind sighed. 



S2 



LONGINGS 

The mocking' bird that fluttered half a-swoon, 
And all but blinded by the glare of noon, 
Was longing for (poor, little mocking -bird!) 
That strange, white mystery some call the moon. 

The night wind, when the western sky was 

kiss'd 
With saflfron shaded into amethyst, 
Was sighing for (poor, little lonely wind!) 
The mountains dreaming in their purple mist. 



53 



\ 



SIR INSOLENCE 

Self-satisfied and jauntily at ease, 
Well-groomed and rakish, daring — debonair — 
(A veritable Lovelace, if you please) 
The blackbird swaggers in the garden there. 
Just hear him scold ! 'Tis evident he sees 
Me coming. Hear him clamor and declare 
That they are his — my lawn, and flow'rs, and 

trees ; 
And that 'tv/ere best that I should have a care. 

Altho' I should not wish to have him know, 
I like his scoldings and his lordly ways ; 
I like to see him strutting to and fro 
xA-cross my lawn. I miss him on the days 
When he indulges me with a pretense 
Of having made a change of residence. 



54 



THE WATER-LILIES 

Sometimes the water-lilies lay 

Their cheeks to cool 

Upon the bosom of the pool 

Of a summer's day ; 

And then the ripples kiss them when they dare. 

I need not say 

That there are many graceful ripples there. 

Perhaps that 's why the lilies sometimes lay 

Their cheeks to cool 

Upon the bosom of the pool 

Of a summer's day? 



55 



AN OLD-FASHIONED GARDEN 

Larkspur and eglantine, 
Heartsease and heather, 
Hollyhocks, four-o'clocks, 
Poppies, mignonette and phlox 
Growing wild together. 
What a dear, old-fashioned nook, 
And how few would heed it. 
What a place to take a book — 
And never read it ! 



5f> 



BUT THE LIVING FADE 

A mocking bird on the topmost spray 
Of a distant tree 
Is singing : 

''The days are slipping away from me — 
Drifting into eternity. 
Like the brook in the glade, 
Life ripples on; 
But the Living fade 
Like the rose of dawn, 
Which is scarce abloom 
Before 'tis gone. 
And I, who came 
With a heart of flame, 
And a spirit as restless as the sea — 
/, too, must follow the drift of days 
Into eternity." 

Ah, the mocking bird is sad tonight! 

Sad with the thought that the days must bring 

Another spray — 

Another spring — 

And another mocking bird to sing. 



57 



WHEN SUNBEAMS STRAY 

When sunbeams stray 
Into my heart, 
The shadows start 
To run away. 

'They start," I say ; 
Too well I know 
How shadows stay 
And sunbeams go. 



58 



APR 19 »90* 



